It all depends on what you think happens here:
And, occasionally, serious men in dark suits would come calling
and suggest, very politely, that perhaps he’d like to sell the shop itself
so that it could be turned into the kind of retail outlet more suited to
the area. Sometimes they’d offer cash, in large rolls of grubby fifty pound
notes. Or, sometimes, while they were talking, other men in
dark glasses would wander around the shop shaking their heads and
saying how inflammable paper was, and what a firetrap he had
here.
And Aziraphale would nod and smile and say that he’d think
about it. And then they’d go away. And they’d never come back.
Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you have to be a fool.
If you think murder happens… well, then murders have been committed. (But Aziraphale didn’t kill those men. You did.)